Chapter 104

104
SOUTH JACINTO DISTRICT, WASHINGTON, D.C.

Tuesday morning began in a very normal way at Hernando's Snip and Style. Hernando Guterros appeared at the locked door of his salon stylishly late at 9:15 AM. In his arms were fresh cut flowers for the single gaudy vase behind his chair. The other chair was broken and had been for several years. Again this morning he told himself in a matter of fact way that he'd get that chair fixed and double his business again. It would be just like the old days when Ramon was here. The mere memory of that man still almost brought a tear to his eye even after six long years. But Ramon was a rat. Ramon had taken his money right from the till. Ramon had charged lots of clothes on his credit card. Ramon was a very bad barber. Ramon couldn't be true to just one man. And since that one man had been Hernando, Ramon was a bastard. Hernando reassured himself, "Life goes on..."

Having completed his morning ritual of reminiscing about his ex, Ramon, Hernando opened the troublesome lock, arms still quite full with cut flowers, lunch bag and his wire rim glasses held gingerly between his fingers, pushed the door open and set the door stop to keep it there. With Ramon out of his immediate attention for another day, he found himself whistling a carefree salsa tune. To his left as he entered he could see Dottie putting the last touches on her first perm of the morning. He placed the flowers in the vase and unlocked the interior glass door between the shops.

"Thank goodness you're here. We needed that door open for ventilation an hour ago, darlin'. And aren't you the dapper one today? You lady killer!" Dottie had long since mastered the art of talking specifically to someone without looking at them. The greeting had caused no hesitation in the application of her skills to the head of curlers before her.

"I see you've taken the Mark of God, Ethel. I can tell it's still a little tender. I'll be careful with the rinse. When did you get it?" Dottie rattled on, twisting in curlers even faster.

"Harry and I both got 'em the day before yesterday down to the Buck Stratton Ministry Service Center. We had to wait until our social security checks come in, then we went right away. I ain't takin' no chances with my soul. Harry ain't either. He ain't the most godly man ever made but he's a tryin' the best he can."

"Did you get yours, Dottie?" Ethel continued to turn the pages of her magazine as she spoke.

"You bet, hon. All this stuff goin' on scares the pee waddin' out me. I'm also sendin' Buck Stratton something outta my tips every week, you know, to help his ministry. Some one's gotta stand up to this devil. In fact, I got him on the radio right now, down low, you know. Hernando over next door ain't really against Pastor Stratton, but he hasn't made up his mind quite yet." Dottie adjusted her own great pile of pinkish silver hair, then returned to the curlers.

"How can anyone in his right mind question it at all? Pastor Stratton has proved everything he ever said, proved it right out of the scriptures." Ethel was flipping through Vanity Unlimited as fast as she could lick her fingers to turn the pages.

Dottie leaned close to Ethel's ear. "He's gay, you know. That's the problem. All that stuff Buck Stratton said about gay people's put him off a little."

Ethel turned to look through the door into the barber shop. Hernando, dressed in a shiny pin-striped double breasted suit was leaning forward on tip-toes adjusting the flowers. At 5'-1" he had to stand on a wastebasket to reach the shelf where the vase sat. Still standing up off the floor, he turned to adjust the flowery silk handkerchief blossoming out of his breast pocket. as he admired himself in the mirror that ran the length of the wall opposite him. He was quite pleased. The shining zoot suit almost hid his moderate belly, and the rhinestone cuff links Ramon had given him shone like Liberace's very own diamonds.

"I never imagined, Dottie. Does that mean he thinks this devil is Jesus Christ? Have you been able to talk to him?" Ethel was staring at the little barber now. "That makes my skin crawl. Pastor Stratton says people like that are abnormations. He says they are spies and secret agents for the anti-Christ!"

Hernando, not privy to this beauty parlor conversation, now stood in all his splendor, posing for the woman seated in the chair in the shop next door as he put the final touch on his hair. He had carried his mane in a jet black pompadour for years.

He turned away from his image to greet his first customer of the morning, a tall man in an expensive suit and trench coat. Indeed, this coat was very expensive. Perhaps even tailored. His customer was wearing sun glasses which accented his already very short gray hair.

"And what can I do for you this morning, sir? Perhaps a trim and a shave?" He asked fully knowing that the man was perfectly groomed, requiring neither service.

"Are you Hernando?" the stranger inquired.

"Why yes, yes of course. I am Hernando himself. At your service." replied the now nervous little barber.

"Do you place your business cards in the Watergate?" The tall man asked, speaking as he slowly surveyed the little shop. "The hotel manager told me you were not on the list of approved advertisers for the Watergate. He wasn't able to explain how one of the guests of the hotel found your card in his night stand drawer. Apparently your business is advertised on one side and something called Dottie's Castle of Coiffures is on the other."

Every set of eyes in Dottie's Castle of Coiffures was now locked in a trance, staring through the doorway at the scene unfolding in the barber shop. Hernando might just as well have been the proverbial deer staring into the headlights. He was utterly unable to speak.

Finally, Dottie, having an ever so slight advantage in genetic presence of mind, although still quaking, of course, spoke up from her station in the next shop. "I can explain that, officer. My sister-in-law, Rosa, is on maid staff at the Watergate Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. She put the cards in some of the rooms she cleans. She was trying to help us out here, trying to get us some more business. She didn't mean nothing by it. Hardly anybody from the Watergate ever comes in here anyways, its too far. Honest. Hardly anybody."

"Well, thanks to Rosa and her unauthorized card sprinkling, a certain, rather special anybody is going to arrive shortly for a haircut. Do you mind if I close that glass door?" The stranger asked Hernando.

Still unable to speak, Hernando nodded his head yes, then blurted out, "No. No, of course not." He rose to lock the door. Through the glass, three pairs of eyes still remained, unwavering, almost filling three faces tormented by the consuming fire of beauty parlor curiosity and the exquisite wordless pain of gossip delayed.

Dottie rushed to turn off the hair dryer and the radio. When complete silence had filled her shop, faint snatches of the conversation next door drifted through the vent high on the common wall. The nearly hysterical Hernando's voice was quite clear. The other man seemed to have a voice which only carried a few inches, yet tantalizing snatches of his comments still reached the women.

The stranger showed a badge. He was Secret Service. Hernando shuddered. The agent asked him softly, aware of the security leak next door, "Do you carry the Mark of God? Can I look?"

Hernando still didn't get it. He tipped his head forward to satisfy the Secret Service man. He offered his own answer. "I don't listen to Buck Stratton. I think he's wrong. Jesus is no Diablo, even if Dottie over there thinks He is. Is He coming here? Why is He coming here? Why is He coming to Hernando's Snip and Style?"

The agent answered simply. "I don't know why He is coming here. I guess He can go any damned place He wants to. You got any problem cutting His hair?"

"No! No, of course not! Oh my God! I've got to call my friends!" Hernando grabbed his cordless phone. He looked up, puzzled.

"It's dead. It will stay dead until this little drill is over. Our plan is to keep a lid on this if that's possible. If everything goes according to plan, we'll be out of your hair and on our way in a couple of hours. Then you can call whomever you want." The agent was firm, yet quite polite.

Hernando was scrambling from drawer to drawer, finally withdrawing a small automatic camera. He looked at the Secret Service man, silently asking permission.

"That's fine with me, but you'd better make sure its okay with Him. I don't claim to know what the facts are here, but why tempt fate and piss Him off?" The agent sat down heavily in one of the four plush velour chairs and picked up a magazine with studied indifference